


Symbiotic Sutures

by Mercury_of_Myth



Category: Marvel (Comics), Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Fan Characters, M/M, Original Character(s), Symbiote OC, Symbiote character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercury_of_Myth/pseuds/Mercury_of_Myth
Summary: Wyatt had always made pathetic attempts at making a name for himself in the worst of ways, to put his past traumas behind him and clean up the world of those who hurt him.Splice is a damaged and trapped symbiote looking for the perfect fairy tale symbiosis.What could go wrong when they team up to make a meal of the abusive and dastardly?(Long time original fan characters, just for fun to explore their shenanigans and dynamic)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Not according to plan

A flicker of orange streetlight lit bloody knuckles as a drunkenly thrown fist came crashing towards his face, level with his brow as Wyatt’s eyes squashed shut in an instant. His breath caught between bruised ribs as he had seconds to flinch away, before the young man shook his head and dismissed the memory.  
He sighed as he was jarred back to the present, recalling It was nothing more than a reddened and misshapen welt on his brow now. 

His labored breathing was laced not only with ache from his previous skirmish, but also a boiling annoyance at how his night had gone, at how quickly his luck had gone down the gutter. The recent memory faded away along with some of the throbbing pain that radiated from a sure to be swollen jaw, discoloration already signaling a deep bruise would greet him for the next few days.  
The racing pace of muddy boots slowed to a jog down the empty back streets, as he chose rather to slink behind the dozens of closed businesses, darkness cloaking the disheveled man. The light from the buzzing electric lamp posts glinted off his flannel shirt and jeans, damp from a crash into the soggy streets behind the bar just minutes before. Small splotches of blood peppered his torn jeans knees and palms.  
He had been stupid, he had been reckless, but honestly when he thought about it, when was the hotheaded idiot not? A short ghost of a snicker quickly morphed into a cough.  
The pain still rang out like an annoying and painful bell in his head, one arm slung over his ribs as he stumbled down the alley, wobbling lights flashing as he passed gaps in the buildings. 

He was still boiling inside, recalling every irritating detail from the prior engagement. The soured alcohol scent that had been wafting from the very sweat of his adversary had been enough to say the lunatic never intended to let go of the prize he had found, even if Wyatt hadn’t lost miserably. Wyatt knew that look, he had seen it dozens of times before from his experiences in the seediest living situations as a child. It was like a starving dog with a bone. Yet he had gone in swinging at a huge guy hell bent on blood, outside a shitty bar. It was quite poetic for him, but it still turned the lingering sizzle of pain from the punches into anger that made his teeth grind.  
Hazel eyes scanned the streets ahead vigilantly, never stopping for a second as his muddy work boots sought their own stumbling path towards the darkest most private reaches of the city. He didn’t feel safe until he reached some form of closed space and quiet. He never did. 

Wyatt cursed under his breath and wrapped his arms around himself. Why had he even done that back there? The scene was clear as day.  
“Stupid redneck!” spit had flown from the stumbling drunk’s lips as he raised his balled fists again, his eyes glazed like wet marbles. Punches collided, shouting broke eardrums, nothing made sense.  
He didn’t care, but if that was so why was it so clear?  
There was a young woman with tears in her eyes. Her face distorted in his vision, but the blazing red welt across her face and the hand-sized bruises on the flesh of her neck were unmistakable.  
Wyatt had snorted, wiping blood muddled saliva from his lips and nose as she stared at him. He had tried. His boots slipped a few times on the wet concrete of the street, stumbling upright and rattling out a heavy sigh of defeat. But nonetheless: he ran. 

It wasn’t until his boots echoing off closed in brick walls and an empty loading dock signaled he had found a safe hideaway did he stop. A slight scowl pulled at his face as he flopped down on a lone stone stoop, back creaking against the rotting door.  
His thoughts swirled in a torrent with the somewhat fading static of abused nerve endings.  
In his convoluted mind, it was clear. Being a hero was pointless, that woman behind the bar was another drop in the bucket of people Wyatt’s apathy may have waned for. What did it matter to him, what difference did it even make if it ended up costing him his life. He wiped sweat from his eyes. She’d be forgotten until the next chump thought to step in. What sort of feel good high, being a momentary hero for one person, was worth laying bloody in a damp sewage-smelling street outside a bar? He didn’t prefer that position, being a coward wasn’t a mystery to him. And honestly Wyatt preferred that line of action.  
Why the young man would start a fight in the first place wasn’t rocket science: he saw an outlet and a living punching bag. Life had given him the worst hand in his opinion. A disorienting fog had clouded his thoughts like a heavy blanket, a memory had addled his mind so much when he smelled the alcohol and heard that familiar sound of an open palm slap and cry, that he didn’t even know what was happening until he was animalistic on the woman-beater.  
“It was some bullshit,” he scoffed under his breath, pulling the damp and torn flannel jacket closer and resting his elbows against his violently bouncing knee. His clothes were never in great condition but this was ridiculous. He needed new ones soon. 

A shuffle and curse nearby nearly made Wyatt leap from his own skin. A radio crackled to life with hushed words, as the now fully alert brunet’s head snapped to attention. A young man no older than 20 in grey scrubs fumbled for his dropped wallet outside the next building over, picking it up with another curse as a few drops of alley water dropped from it. The doctor, scientist, (or pharmacist? Though Wyatt didn’t have a clue) had a glinting Alchemax tag over his heart, uniform labeled with the same universally familiar insignia. His grey uniform scrubs were pristine and black boots shone spotless beneath crisp slacks. Wyatt’s frown deepened and his eyes narrowed as he hunched closer to himself.  
Ah, more bullshit. 

By his luck in finding a quiet place to rest, he had coincidentally found his way right to the Community and Humanity Research Center, some run down and hopeless satellite figure for that Osborne-Alchemax nonsense. Wyatt didn’t care if the funding was tight recently for the research center, in no way did it even concern him, it was always trash to him. He and many others in a similar budget situation he spent time with knew the rumors. Medical trials were offered, experimental drugs tested, experiment food and supplements offered to those starving on the streets; they took lives and resources from the community of the hopeless and abandoned, and returned nothing. Often times their efforts to clean up the streets seemed to be taken too literally.  
Wyatt’s body turned rigid in irritation at seeing the Alchemax goon, the young guy was clearly nervous as all hell and so shaky that he was rattling car keys as he approached a black unmarked van. Wyatt hadn’t even noticed it, parked haphazardly in the alleyway behind the building, not two yards from where the flannel clad man sat hunched over and shivering. The disheveled living trash heap didn’t move despite his ribs and swelling injuries sending waves of dull pain through him as he tensed, squinted eyes tracking every move the uniformed kid made.  
The radio crackled again, and Wyatt’s hearing perked up.  
“Truck—-loaded—hurry—-codex—-boss” a jumble of static laced words whispered, as the poor guy dropped his keys, fumbling frantically at the soggy concrete of the loading dock alleyway. The chump was basically trembling with nerves, which made him stick out like a sore thumb even if he hadn’t been alone. And that made Wyatt’s scowl shrink slightly at a thought. 

What was taking a disproportionately small stack of cash worth to this obvious idiot, who worked for the facility that didn’t give a shit for the ones it’s experiments supposedly helped: a drop in the bucket. The same small stack of cash to Wyatt: well it was new clothes, maybe a place in an actual building to sleep for another night. It only seemed fair. 

Cold hazel eyes tracked the frenzied movements of the clearly nervous young man struggling to stop looking like an idiot.  
Swollen Bruises and shallow cuts across his body buzzed to life but Wyatt was on his feet nonetheless, nonchalantly meandering closer as the Alchemax worker unlocked the back of the van and began shuffling around. Unseen due to whatever was eating the worker, Wyatt made his move. His boot connected with the Van door with a powerful boom and it slammed into the researcher, bowling them off their feet, sending them tumbling sideways with a yelp and hitting the asphalt with a damp thunk. In a flash Wyatt stepped on the guy’s arm and snatched the wallet right from his fingers before he even had a chance to realign his focus and realize what happened. The kids face was ghost white, eyes wide having barely a second to process how he was now pinned to the ground outside his vehicle. He barely made a cry, stunned into silence clutching one hand on Wyatt’s boot.  
Wyatt’s brow lowered, staring at the now seemingly useless person under his own feet.  
“Look I’ve had a day from hell, help a guy out ok?” The bruised man pleaded, with little attempt to even fake any expression beyond apathy, holding the wallet casually above his head as if he had only found $20 on the sidewalk. But what he wasn’t expecting was the scrawny thing under his boot to reanimate.  
“You have no idea what you’re doing!”  
With a shout the worker wrenched the boot away and launched at Wyatt.  
But his reflexes, still on fire from earlier, seemed to not wait for him to react. He lashed out instinctively, clumsily landed a boot into the kids gut. A half gasp and hack, and the blow dropped the worker, Wyatt now standing tall above his adversary, still covered in a sprinkling of his own blood and half swollen jaw. He looked like he had tumbled down a hill of rocks. And the message was received. “You, you’re crazy….”  
The kid scrambled away wheezing and finally found his footing like a newborn antelope, before launching down the street to the safety of light. He disappeared into the main street, among the occasional passing cars headlights and street lamps. 

Wyatt sighed and his shoulder relaxed, his eyes scanned the now empty alleyway and he tapped the wallet against his palm. Brow furrowed he shoved the cash into his ripped pocket.  
“Rude….Sorry, but that’s how it is...” he muttered, before setting the lightly raided wallet very gently on the bumper of the van, turning away from the half open doors. The night would be over soon and he had rent for a shifty motel to pay, maybe a new shirt and jacket, things appeared to be looking up. Even a small win still counted for him when his standards and luck were so painfully low. He could head back to the safety of his room and rest away the pain plaguing his whole body and stew on his thoughts for days until he was ready to try to step into the world again. But something made him stop as he attempted to leave the van and alley behind. 

Thin blue light caught in his peripheral when he turned, and one eye twitched curiously. He glanced back over his shoulder for a quick look, unsure of why. He had barely caught his breath and the Alchemax goon would be back no doubt with back up soon, yet something drew him to at least look. His pain was nearly forgotten as his head turned slightly, not intending for it to be more than a quick peek.  
What was now a bright blue glow emanated from the crack of the barely open van door. The light pulsed, growing bright before dimming, and then a sound reached Wyatt’s ears. 

Tapping, frantic sharp tapping as if on glass by an insistent fingernail.  
“Holy shit, is...” he leaned forward “is someone inside?” He raised his voice more to himself than any potential person inside, taking a step forward and craning his neck to see between the cracked doors. Was someone seriously IN there? The proposition left open so many reasons not to be here now, more-so than before. Why would someone be stuck inside the van tapping for his attention, flashing a light for any good reason. The possibilities were limited and not good. Were they trafficking people now? It wasn’t too far from what he could imagine, honestly Alchemax wasn’t above doing something like this, but all that ran through his head was panic at the idea, and a growing curiosity that did not seem natural or of his own volition. Someone was inside this van flashing a light to get his attention and now they were banging on glass. Every ounce of common sense fled from Wyatt and he ripped open the doors expecting the worst. His eyes widened and the light went out as the doors opened wide. 

Nothing. 

Well, no sign of a human tied up and gagged anyway. The van was full of equipment, dim orange lights blinking from computers and panels. A few empty glass canisters surrounded by complex locking mechanisms were mounted to the back wall, for what exactly he had no clue. Just a load of technology which seemed pretty routine for a research van. But then Wyatt heard it again, a tap tap tap followed by a light muffled thump, as if someone threw something soft at a window. The sound caught his left ear and his head naturally swiveled, just in time to catch sight of a dim blue glow again as the light increased before fading away into darkness again. It was coming from one of the lone locked canisters, this one mostly a large clear glass panel in the front. Inside, he couldn’t quite tell what, but something shifted like oil on the water’s surface. He glanced frantically over his shoulder again, body rigid with nerves, only to see the alley still empty and he was indeed alone. No sounds of footsteps or approaching back up, just silence.  
Without much hesitation The man climbed up into the back of the van, crouched on his knees and creeping closer to the canister as something within rippled in waves and shifted like some sort of... bizarre and hypnotic lava lamp. He tilted his head curiously, when suddenly a thin tendril reached forward. Somewhat disgusted but equally intrigued, he watched the dark grey and dull blue fluid reach for the glass like some sort of oil spill come to life: and tap. It was the same sound from before.  
What the actual fuck was going on. His head was already swimming in the aftermath of the night, his jaw ached and his head pounded in a migraine begging for him to find his bed and sleep. This all felt like some fever dream. None of this made any sense at all and it made Wyatt’s entire body feel clammy with trepidation, but something about the light felt so alluring. He couldn’t just leave, and he didn’t know why. 

He shook his head. What was he, some sort of moth? This thing was clearly some weird experimental substance these Alchemax goons made up, probably packaged for sale this very night. Some sort of drug would make sense for the situation, but why on earth could it move and tap on glass?? Wyatt reached a hand forward, and the thing rose to meet him, making his skin crawl. It was thinking, clearly mimicking his movements.  
But then it changed direction independently from his retreating reach. The entirety of the substance shifted and gathered itself to the glass surface, almost like a magnet as the light grew a shade brighter as it all collected at one point; It was directly above a small oddly shaped metallic square built into the dashboard the canister seemed to be mounted on.  
“What....the hell?” Wyatt breathed, leaning closer. His hand instinctively followed the direction of the goo’s path, and suddenly the glow brightened. It was so faint at first, but as soon as his fingertips neared the square the brightness had risen to that of a table-side lamp. Wyatt twitched an eyebrow and his frown twisted in confusion. It was like playing hot and cold, this thing was interacting with him without a doubt now. But why exactly and how could something that was essentially formless liquid be thinking let alone interacting. 

What was this place cooking up in their lab? First it was disappearing homeless and bizarre meetings about the community, now some sort of sentient goo? What the hell was this. Better yet, why was he still inside this van, basically trying to get shot. But he couldn’t leave now, this was all too much to just walk away from, after all he had just robbed one of their men and was now inside their secret van of horrors. But before he knew it his fingertips were tracing the metallic square as the creature tapped more insistently, hovering above, wriggling across the glass surface of its case. 

And that’s when he heard it, a loud hiss like air escaping a sealed jar, and a grinding pop of glass against metal. His eyes raised in shock and focused on the now wide open canister, before he could even process what he’d done. The substance arched upwards as it gathered to a central point above its once prison like a snake, and it launched.  
Blazing needles fired into Wyatt’s abdomen like thousands of fire pokers and he screamed as it enveloped his lower chest. He clawed at where the thick goo should have been seconds before only to find himself clawing at his own clothes and skin, no blood or lacerations to be seen. He was falling, the ground rising to meet him when the corner of the nearest monitor slammed into his brow. White hot pain radiated across his vision and he felt the world slip for a second. The young man hit the ground with another cry, disoriented and lost as his palms slammed into the metal flooring. But one thing brought him back to reality: the feeling of violent movement rising towards his ribs like dozens of eels making their way to his heart that made him seize up and scream again. His Fingers clawed at his own chest, trying to find where the hell the thing was. There was no pain like he naturally thought there should be but the absolute shock of something so unimaginable made his entire mind scream in terror. The lack of actual pain scared him more, seeing that as soon as the mass moved from one location the pain instantly ceased there.  
“Shit shit shit”  
His vision tilted from the bashing his head had just taken as he felt blood ease down his brow, and his limbs scrambled for purchase as he clawed his way out of the van like a feral animal. The floor of the vehicle disappeared and the wet cement alleyway ground met him as he came crashing down a second time. His elbows lit up like his nerves were a Christmas tree as they struck the concrete.  
His breaths brought his panic levels up more than he had experienced in a long time, they were short and he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried. It was as if he was drowning, but here he was laying on his side in the street behind a van. Nothing made any sense at the moment. His lungs felt like they were filling with tar. Wyatt’s Heart was pounding out of his chest and he spluttered and cried out, seeing shapes at the corner of his vision and a loud shout as flashlights found him. The man reached out one hand and tried to cry out again, squinting as a small trickle of blood blurred his left eye, before his vision condensed to reveal two guns trained on him. Two security guards stood over him, the worker he had scared off standing close behind. “Please help” he croaked, raising both hands up in surrender and squeezing his eyes shut. The movement had ceased and an unnatural sense of calm but cold sensation had crept through his veins: but he was still too mindlessly confused and panicked to dodge as one security guard simply lunged for him. A new sensation like Something creeping beneath Wyatt’s skin made him wince, feeling as if a splinter were making its way down his spine as the guards approached.  
“Please... there’s something wro-“ but the guard ignored him and ripped him off the ground, wrestling the struggling man to his feet by his collar, just before the sound of metal scraping bone rang out.  
“What the he-GHK!” A loud cry echoed off the walls of the alley.  
The guards grip loosened and Wyatt stumbled backwards, gaining his footing rapidly before looking towards the man who had been holding him, the guard crumpling to the ground in a growing pool of blood. Dozens of thin black quills skewered the guards torso, glistening in the night like broken glass. The pool around his body rapidly expanded into a shining dark red shadow. 

The seizing panic that had been crashing through Wyatts brain reached a peak, and the pounding of his heart suddenly stopped completely in that moment. His body completely froze as a wash of intense need to run flooded through him. He took another wobbling step back, Then another.  
“God he’s...I didn’t, I didn’t do that. Shit,” he raised his hands to his head, wringing his hair. He barely even registered the pain in his body had changed: the injuries from the fight, the gut wrenching sensation of that thing within his chest, all vanished as if his nerve endings had been glazed right over. All that remained was disorientation and fear of what the hell just happened. In seconds, the remaining guard had raised the pistol to connect with Wyatt’s center mass. But whatever had hijacked him seemed to have a contingency plan.  
By the time the gun met Wyatt’s chest he was gone, body being flung against the nearest alley wall with a meaty thunk, it seemed to have been some attempt at a leap but ended more like a massive force had thrown him sideways.  
“Holy shit that was a terrible idea...” he whimpered, peeling himself away from the cracked brick.  
A deafening bang bounced off the walls of the alley and for a second his entire being seemed to tear apart at the sound. Wyatt jumped backwards and shakily looked to see the path the bullet had made through his arm, but here was barely a drop of blood.  
“What the hell” his voice cracked, glimpsing a swirling dark oil pooling within he wound instead.  
Suddenly for a split second, everything stopped.

The moment went quiet as if he was underwater, collecting his shattered train of thought piece by piece until he could clearly think, and when he could it seemed something, a conscience that was not his own, tapped into his mind as it implanted a thought. Everything from the lack of pain in his wound to the panic setting in was thrown out the window, as a suggestion was brought up through some deep mental connection, and he agreed immediately: they needed to get the fuck out. They needed to stop freaking out, pull it together, and get out. 

The guard swung around to correct their aim, finger finding the trigger again to meet the disheveled man's heart. But Wyatt’s limbs seem to awaken without him, a surge of synapse-lighting energy taking hold of his body as if on autopilot. He launched out of the line of fire and scrambled like a feral creature to the darker reaches of the alley, twisting out of the way of another shot. The bucket ricocheted off the alley walls and the sound pierced straight through him without the need of the bullet. His mad bone breaking dash ripped him back to his feet as of lifted on strings to pick up into a blinding run, away from the noise, the pain, the dead guard.  
Until everything disappeared. 

The alley lay empty, cold wind blowing trash and rustling the fallen blood soaked Alchemax guard’s clothing on the ground.  
The remaining security guard lowered his weapon with a face pale as death, sending it clattering to the damp cold concrete as a lazy stream of blood leaked down to his palm. A single spine had pierced his forearm, freezing his trigger finger seconds before the firing pin could connect a third time. He gripped his arm and went to his knees, only to glare at the cowering bruised kid in grey scrubs, who crouched trembling behind the van doors.  
“Dr.Cyrus….” His eyes narrowed and he sighed loudly. “What the hell did you let happen....”


	2. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt finds himself a hostage in his own body on a hunt for vengeance, as his situation spirals into bizzare and horrific territory.

The sun was barely a sliver above the city as the day slipped under the horizon, when Wyatt’s reddened eyes cracked open. 

The last leak of hazy sunlight hit his lifting lids, suddenly flooding his vision with painful needles of light that made them slam shut like clamshells all over again. It felt like the sun pierced right through despite his best efforts, and he quickly buried his face in the crook of his arm, wincing. 

As his body slowly woke he was acutely aware of the chill eating through him to his core, as if he had spent the night in the snow. It made his bones creak it seemed. But the familiar rumble of the nearby train and pollution-soured stench of the city reminded him he was home. It was all much more vivid than he was accustomed to, but everything was at the moment: intense and uncomfortable.   
As he awoke more however, brain activity beginning to buzz and neurons firing with renewed awareness, the realization of pain hit. 

Pounding nails drilled through Wyatt’s skull, alongside some inherent internal sense of wrongness that clung like wet clothes. It pissed him off immediately. A guttural groan proved he was indeed alive and he rolled onto his side to locate something to keep warm.  
Except he didn’t find his familiar, ratty, moth-eaten sheets back at the crummy hotel.   
Crinkling plastic gave way underneath his frantic scrambling as Wyatt clawed awake. He was flat on his back across a bed of something that was very much NOT his room. 

His body tumbled to the cold grinding concrete as the garbage bags parted from under him.   
Trash?   
In a limping crawl the man found his way to his feet despite feeling like a steel rod was jammed into his spine. He wobbled on aching locked-up legs in a stumble reminiscent of a newborn deer. 

Apparently, he had spent the night strewn like a dead opossum across a massive collection of city junk, black trash bags piled a few high. Some had been ripped to shreds and ripe food scraps littered the street. A sour taste permeated his tongue at the sight and smell. His head pounded more than ever now.  
Soggy bits from the torn open bags clung to his ripped sleeves, and he let out a loud grunt as he swiped them away angrily.   
What happened? He pressed a freezing hand to his sweaty forehead. The man’s thoughts were a flurry of barely retrievable pieces of memory, flying by faster than he could collect them. 

The snowy evening made his entire body damp, and violent shivering snapped him out of it as he looked around to find out where the hell he was. 

“Jesus...I’m freezing....” his voice was stifled through chattering teeth. Pulling his flannel over shirt up as close to his face as he could, he glanced around.   
No sooner than the words left his trembling lips, a creeping warmth began to spread through him, trickling through his very blood to arms, legs, fingers, and face. Perhaps getting up and standing had awakened the blood flow. Slowly, the cold seemed to fade away into a memory as if it had heard his request. 

Either way, the cold tremors fading made it easier to observe the secluded side street he now found himself in.   
Hazel eyes scanned the grimy walls between the two buildings, one chimney puffing steam that smelled deliciously of cooking. The street lights has just begun switching on, flickering to life down the street one by one with an orange glow as night approached.   
A bakery sign hung swinging in the freezing wind. The trash bags seemed to have come from that place, old food and rotting produce littering the ground and clinging to his boots.   
The scent of it made a pang of intense hunger twist his stomach. Without time to prepare for the sweep of nausea, his hand twisted his shirt in a firm fist, the feeling of *starving* hitting him fast. 

His head was spinning since he awoke, as if a dizzying snow storm raged inside his skull along with that pain that refused to leave. But now a new layer of discomfort had set in. He stood to full height and tried to take a step forward.   
The man instantly regretted it. Wyatt doubled over as a wave of nausea, wildly spinning vision, and that intense hunger punched him square in the gut.   
“God... what the fuck?” he choked, spitting clinging saliva onto the ground and standing again. 

**Need food. Urgently.**

Wyatt’s head perked up at the voice and he squinted his eyes, flapping a dismissive hand at what had to be his own disjointed thoughts  
“Yeah yeah... starving...”  
Slowly he opened one eye and felt the pounding in his skull subside for a moment, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You alright there?” A male voice piped up from the building next door. 

Wyatt bristled instantly, realizing his vulnerability as he took a wide stance and glared as best he could in his current state.   
A man in a nice suit stood peering curiously from between the two buildings, a thin eyebrow quirked and gnawing on a half eaten pastry. His brown eyes were gentle and confused, probably feeling pity for the disheveled freak in the side street standing among trash. Wyatt’s shoulders bunched defensively as he struggled to ignore the dizziness and searing sense of starvation in his gut, waving the man off. 

“Ain’t felt better,” he mumbled. 

**Perfect. Kill this one.**

His body involuntarily took a step forward as if he were falling towards the stranger. But Wyatt yanked back a hand to his head and winced.   
“What the hell...”  
That voice again, rumbling in a grating tone from between his ears, sent shivers down his spine.   
Their need to eat was urgent, overpowering, like a sinkhole was forming in their core, eating away at them as it grew. The time for gentle persuasion was waning. 

The man was approaching now, one hand holding out a fresh pastry wrapped in crinkling newspaper as he gave a half ticked smile.  
“Had a rough night I see, it’s all I have now but I can get more if ya need it son, life in this weather’s got to be tough.” He offered with a good-natured shrug. 

Wyatt was rigid. An intoxicating scent had seized all his attention, wafting toward him. The freshest, most prime smell of freshly butchered meat one could ever imagine had him transfixed: like a finely marbled steak just before it kissed a freshly fired grill.   
His eyes intensely focused like lasers on the hand outstretched, cold as stone and glossed with an unnatural swirling haze within. Both consciences locked on to the target, the proteins they needed direly right there.   
“You... you there boy?” 

**Kill this one, Wyatt.... Do it now. Time running out. Do it.**

A hand met Wyatt’s shoulder and he snapped into action.   
The suited man’s rag doll body went flying with one swipe. He hit the snowy concrete with a loud meaty thunk, limbs flying wildly and pastries following suit. The stranger cried out before reaching for his pockets as he lay strewn out, injured and terrified. In an instant a blade of screaming sound broke the silence and ripped into Wyatt’s ears.   
The pain hit instantly.   
Wyatt’s entire body seized as he cried out, a burning agony and disembodied shrieking tearing his mind in half.   
The two toned scream that ripped from his throat was impossible to be his own, yet at the same time it was.   
He found himself back in the alley on his ass as the screaming crackle of electricity ceased, eyes wandering to meet the man’s own terrified ones hiding behind a stun gun. His hands shook, the plastic weapon rattling.   
“You’re insane....” the stranger’s voice trembled. His eyes rapidly blinked away a tear of pain as he scrambled to his shaking feet, taser pointed accusingly at Wyatt’s face. He slid his shoes in the snow and backed away, towards the lights of the neighboring street. 

Wyatts head spun. He couldn’t have hoped to even stand at the moment, watching helplessly as the man took off running full speed out of the narrow street, swinging clumsily around a corner and nearly bowling over the trash bags. His footsteps faded and Wyatt let out a deep breath. 

He felt an unfamiliar sense of disappointment as the scent faded with the suited stranger, one that did not feel entirely his own.   
He sank with his back against a wall and melted into the brick, entire body still on fire, drawing his knees to his chest. He plunged his face into his palms and groaned, gritting his teeth to a breaking point.   
“The fuck is wrong with me?” 

**Wyatt is dying. Need to feed.**

Wyatt’s eyes squeezed tighter at the inescapable voice. It’s sharp tenor like nails on a chalkboard and a rumbling engine at the same time.   
“I’m losing my mind... I don’t know where I am... I’m going insa-“

**We know where Wyatt is. Wyatt does too...smell someone...familiar.**

Wyatt’s head lifted at the voice’s suggestion, twitching to realize the familiar scent of fresh tantalizing meat again. But this one was different, more familiar than the last, a scent melded with beer and blood he had come into contact with before. The scent mixed with an intoxicating hate that steadily grew like smoldering coals inside his chest. The thrum of his heart only fanned the flames in an inescapable drum beat. 

The last phantom feeling of bruises and swollen cheekbones resurfaced despite them being nearly erased from his face now. The sound of a woman crying as she was struck nearby was sharp as the night before, as was his rage at seeing someone like that bastard who did it go freely, unpunished. The curses and abuses he spewed from stained teeth were just as vivid, and the way she apologized for it.   
Something shifted around his heart and lungs as he tensed, jaw setting. 

“That douchebag from last night. Oh I remember that...” 

**Yes good! Must find him. Must make it right...time running out. Wyatt too good to lose now.**

His mind was a haze of persuasive chemicals and hunger, forgetting the shock encounter, he barely had the grip to question why he was following the suggestion of a disembodied voice now. However, somewhere deep within he still had suspicion; a lingering sense of dread that bounced around his skull like a ping pong ball. His lack of ability to trust was stronger than anything a little persuasion could dampen, years of childhood lessons had more than strengthened that resolve.   
“What are you and where did you come from...” he murmured, getting to his feet. His entire body hurt, his head was in a haze, and the world made no sense right now. He wanted to know why. 

Before he could react, flashes of sights and sound lanced his mind and he squinted his eyes painfully. His hands flew to his face and he winced. 

Snippets played like diving head first into a snow storm of images: the van, the glowing light that beckoned. A sentient substance that attacked him and disappeared within his skin seemed to be more vibrant than the rest of the memories that passed by.   
Images of the spears materializing from his own skin and skewering the Alchemax guard like a morbid kebab splashed across his vision along with the blood.   
Just as suddenly as it had started, it all bled away back to the alley they stood in. 

“You did that,” he breathed, eyes widening. 

**WE. We did that. And we can do more Wyatt,**

“What is this?” He asked in a haze. 

**We will explain in due time.... for now we must make a move,**

That scent of beer laced with blood brought memories of pain and boiling hatred that welled up into his psyche like pumping blood, washing away his doubts. An embedded fear of the sensory information began to seep through the cracks, insecurity only fueling his need to retaliate. 

He touched his now healed face where swollen cheekbones and crushed ego used to lay. His fists coiled tightly.   
It brought back memories even more stale as well, ones of a looming figure with a reeking liquor bottle in one hand and a belt in the other, memories so old he was surprised they were not remaining buried as he had intended. It wasn’t entirely by chance either that they arose when they did, like a snake rearing it’s sly head. It was all part of the plan.

**We are angry, Wyatt, correct?**

Wyatt nodded and opened his eyes as a steel grey film disappeared from his irises “Hell yeah.” 

\- - -

The target scent trailed down the streets like a thick cologne from someone passing by, but incredibly it had to be over 12 hours old and was sporadic at best. The scent and a few small clues like a discarded bottle in a bin, crumpled napkin, and a tossed food container blazed a trail toward the bar on the outskirts of the more unpopular side of town. Wyatts vendetta only built the nearer it became.   
His walk was purposeful but he remained away from the main road, slipping between the cracks and staying uninteresting as possible as was his routine.   
But inside he was seething, Wyatt knew now he could make the bastard who had beat him hurt this time.   
The same man who hit his wife repeatedly outside the bar Wyatt’s boot steps were now approaching, the man who had boxed Wyatts’s own face into a purple mess for trying to convince him to calm down. The one who spat in his face when he tried to reason with him, laughed as he ran away bloodied and bruised, that one was close.   
Wyatt trembled slightly, shoulders pulled tight. Something inside knew they could win this time, scare the shit out of him, make him leave town even. The presence that spoke to him knew as well, and whatever had entered his system from the van had the power to do it. 

A small cluster of folks milled around the front of the bar until they spotted Wyatt, before lazily blowing one last puff of smoke and drifting back inside at the sight of some ragged man wandering their direction.   
The place reeked of everything he couldn’t stomach, and it made his nerves begin to prickle at the overwhelming sensory feedback.   
The muffled sound of giggling and shitty live music pounded through the wall of the establishment, beating a rhythm in Wyatt’s chest as the scent of nose-singing smoke hit him in the face. He was starting to doubt returning at all. What did he hope to accomplish here? 

“Dumbass redneck” a gurgling voice boomed from his right “came back to cry some more.” 

Wyatt’s head snapped around at the sound, the prickle of hairs rising on the back of his neck and the sound of a chuckle leading his line of sight to where the haggard man now stood, leaning against the grimy wall of the building-side. Looming at his perch the man took a massive swig of the cup in his hand, swishing it around obnoxiously through his teeth and spat at the snow covered ground. Wyatt’s spine straightened and he felt a burning, itching fire creeping beneath his skin, crawling along beneath the surface as if molten lead had begun seeping through his veins. 

The man’s unshaven face twisted in a gross smile.  
Wyatt’s jaw ground painfully as he stared transfixed on the man.   
The guy was obviously nursing a hangover with another drink, wet eyes unfocused and weak. But he was too out in the open to take on now. Everyone passing by would see.   
Honestly Wyatt had no idea what he even planned to do if the situation were ideal. 

“You’d think we’d exchange names before you come looking for me again, jackass.”   
The grimy idiot spat again, landing a swig of burning whiskey at Wyatt’s boots.   
“I’m Jason and I hope you’re not here for me to beat your ass again. Almost think you like it.” 

“Shut the hell up.” Wyatt muttered “names ain’t gonna matter in a minute.” He put his fists in his jacket pockets and tried to remain calm, watching out of his peripheral as the last passerby’s drifted out of eyesight. 

Jason was unperturbed by the comment. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you wanna step in and tell me how to handle my woman and act like you’re a damn cop? Hilarious,” he sneered, standing straight.

“But I don’t got time for you,” he sniffed, raising a casual middle finger before turning down the side street toward the dumpsters.   
His form retreated, rounding the corner. 

Everything about him made Wyatt bristle. The girl he had been with before was nowhere in sight. Neither were any bystanders anymore. The low-life was alone now. 

**Perfect**

“Wait whadda we do when we got em cornered? Give him a taste of his one medicine?” he asked frantically, pausing. 

**You’ll see...**

Wyatt reserved himself at the cryptic comment, blinking slowly, before he took a deep breath through clenched teeth.   
His heart rate spiked not of its own accord and he strolled down the same path Jason had taken, fists curled and eyes narrowed. He tried to relax a little to seem inconspicuous, realizing though it was nearly dark, eyes would be everywhere up front. He didn’t even have a knife, he realized. What would he even do?   
He rounded the corner, when his vision went white. 

A punch sent him reeling backwards, but not before his own hand latched onto the wrist that had sent it. 

A grunt of pain rang out that was not his own.   
Wyatt was busy blinking away the ringing in his ears and holding his free hand to his face when he realized blood was trickling down his arm.   
His eyes opened, gazing down at the man’s wrist as he crushed it in his own fingers, realizing where his hand should have appeared none other was a grey and black claw. 

“Jesus what the hell...” Jason wheezed, wriggling and twisting under their grip “what kinda joke is this.” 

Wyatt’s mind reeled as his wide eyes wandered the creeping grey substance, winding up his right arm and ending in massive talons that sunk deeply under the cotton sleeve and flesh of Jason’s arm. Before he could think to stop the claw that was not his own, with a small flex of his wrist the unmistakable snap of radius and ulna rang out and a scream ripped from Jason’s mouth.   
Wyatt released his grip immediately and stumbled backward, staring as the unfamiliar claws flexed and moved at his will now. They were sharper than razors, tapered into needle-like talons. Silver veins and a faint hint of blue radiated down the fingers and glinted with a steel sheen. 

Jason scrambled away, clutching his wounded arm to his chest and his panicked breathing raked loudly.

“Goddamn freak... “ he growled, fear giving way to anger in his narrowing eyes.

“What did you do to me!” He roared in a voice that trembled, launching like a coiled spring. He grabbed Wyatt by the throat, but the man in his grip didn’t budge an inch. It was like trying to tackle a stone wall.   
A trendril of silver lashed across his uninjured arm, wrapping around like a snake. He reeled in horror at the sticky leach of an appendage but it was too late. 

“You’re not hurting anyone else you bastard.” Wyatt snarled.   
The tendril whipped around with a strength inhuman and flung the coward backwards like a rag doll. He slammed into the nearest wall with a crash, crying out. 

Jason let out a choked whimper and writhed, eyes wandering up to the deformed being in front of him, the once scrawny man before him now equipped with giant clawed hands covered in a gooey substance that slowly crawled and wrapped around their body. Tendrils and tethers of the dark biomass slithered and coiled like serpents as it slowly began to envelop the human’s form. 

The beast blocked the only way back to the populated street, and Jason’s gaze flashed between the two repeatedly. His boots scrambled in the slushy snow, arm clutched tightly to his chest.

“What the hell are you?! Just let me leave. Let me go. I don’t want any of this shit!” He wheezed, good hand searching his right side frantically as his wild doe eyes flashed whites in the dim lighting. Wyatt barely had time to register it before the glint of steel caught his eye and they both reacted. 

A deafening shot rang out as soon as a metallic screech responded, someone’s scream cut out halfway through into a weak gurgle. 

“What the...hell is... what?” Wyatts voice cracked as he frantically patted his body, searching desperately for a bullet wound only to find himself covered in a black and grey vest of sorts. The substance had wrapped around his body from his waist up, writhing like it was alive. His fingers curled around it, and it reached to meet them intelligently. The bullet uselessly clinked to the ground as his eyes glanced up to see the mess that was now Jason. A shaky breath was all that escaped him at the sight. 

Two familiar three foot long spines glinted in the waning lamplight as night took the city, skewering Jason to his spot against the wall like a grimly pinned butterfly. One bisected his rib cage while the other pinned his gun arm harmlessly to the side. Deep red splattered across the snow in stark contrast, still lazily spurting like a leaky hose from the quills that pinned him. Snow melted under the warm crimson, and a feeling of accomplishment quickly replaced Wyatt’s dread at the sight.   
The dying man’s lips burbled audibly as a fountain of blood puddled down his chin and dripped onto his collar. He wheezed some attempt at a question, lips moving silently with a final puff of steamy breath before the gun clattered to the ground and he sank deeper into the snow. 

Everything should have been horrific, something that made Wyatt scream and run. The mangled body lay just a yard away, still staining the snow and steaming in the cold night air. He knew deep down the wrongness and the horror of the situation. But his mind was flooded with adrenaline, mind muddied with one thought: he had taken the bastard off the street, just like that.   
He was speechless, jaw hanging open as his breaths fogged the air. 

What did we say? We have done it. He cannot hurt anyone else. Wyatt has done it. And now...  
Wyatt's eyes hardened to steely pits as a the black and grey substance began to crawl across his form. The feeling of power was immense but inside he wanted desperately to panic. It grabbed hungrily at clothes and flesh, spreading as a much larger shadow than his own began to form beneath them.   
It didn’t matter, what was he worrying about? This thing, this power, had chosen him. They had taken the scum away from this place and no one could have stopped them. Wyatt has never felt so in control, so fulfilled. 

**Now...we feast...**

His vision receding, he felt his rage growing with the blackness that crawled across his vision like thousands of clawing hands.  
The last thing he was acutely aware of was being swallowed up into an all encompassing darkness, power leaching from his veins and shifting through his heart, as senses he didn’t know he had were melded and amalgamated into one. The distinguished sound of crushing bone radiated through his shared ears like a distant tv on in the next room.   
It didn’t matter. He had done it.   
He had done something good and hadn’t failed. He hadn’t been beaten to a pulp this time. He hadn’t been stepped on, squandered and taken advantage of this time.   
It was all so incredible. And it was all because whatever hellish runaway train he had become apart of had found him. 

Then their eyes met the glass of a half boarded window. 

An eldritch horror of a creature stood over the half gnawed body of Jason, crouching on all fours with its head low like a dog over a bone. Blood and shreds of what couldn’t be discerned as flesh or clothing hung from thousands of black needle teeth, entrails draped across claws like hellish tangled streamers.   
The jaw split in a grin of fangs that networked farther than any jaw should, appearing in a line like a horrific zipper, extending from the throat down sides of the monster as far as the ribs.   
Two deep opaline eyes, dappled with a faintly glowing blue and grey, narrowed at the glass. 

Wyatt’s panic found a new hold. 

The flood of adrenaline was sucked away as the blackness began to retreat, and Wyatt began to gain awareness yet again before he even had time to react.   
Like oil receding off water, the grey biomass disappeared and beaded into tiny pieces, receding under his skin.   
His vision returned rather jarringly and the power he had felt was now absolutely crushed.   
Bright orange street lights singed his eyes and the now normal man crumpled. 

Wyatt stumbled backwards and grabbed desperately at his face, expecting thousands of bone grinding teeth. But It was his; clean of any grey mass or blood.   
His body was his as well, back to his torn flannel and jeans, spotless of blood or creeping tendrils.   
He let out a loud breath through his teeth, holding one cold hand to his forehead and digging fingers into his skin. He felt exposed again, alone and in the open. Small.   
He let out a trembling breath and shook his head, eyes squinted shut.  
“What the hell is happening to me... I just killed-“ he pressed his fingers into his temples painfully until he saw spots. 

**We did. He deserved it, Wyatt thought so. Is that not what Wyatt wanted.**

“I didn’t...I didn’t think I’d kill him- and....” he paused, shivering.   
.   
How had this become his reality? This was impossible to be a dream now, there was no denying it at this point. Reality had just hit him like a freight train. Regardless of what he wanted to believe, no nightmare could he this real, this visceral.   
This freak in the window, this delusion was here; it was inside where no running could escape, wrapped around his heart like a...parasite.   
How had his life come to this so suddenly? Was this some sort of sick divine punishment for trying to rob some scientist lackey and being too curious for his own good?   
The man stumbled farther from the bloody mess before them, finding the opposite side of the alley to fall against the wall. A man was dead and in pieces, and he wasn’t terribly upset about it. What the hell was happening. 

His eyes flew open and he growled “show yourself. Now.” 

The creature hesitated, remaining silent.   
Suddenly there was a discomforting shifting around his rib cage like a bad case of heartburn, making a hand fly to his side. His skin crawled as tendrils began to collect through his flannel jacket on his shoulder, coalescing into a larger mass.   
The biomass of dark grey and blue veins began to shape into a stretched maw, shining black teeth grinning as two starry tear drop eyes opened to meet his own. His hands trembled as he stared wide eyed, unable to move as the beastly visage leaned into his face. 

  
“ **We are Sorry to cause Wyatt distress**...” the jaws articulated words well, despite rows of crooked fangs filling its lipless jaws. If he was more insane he would even see a slight dip in the eyes resembling regret. 

“You’re just a goddamn voice in my head how the hell are ya sorry,” Wyatt squeaked, not dropping his confident front despite trembling like a leaf.   
“What the hell are you and what do you want with me? Why me?” He demanded. 

It took everything he had to remain calm instead of clawing at the creature crawling out of his own body like a cancer that had a mind of its own. The lack of autonomy made his entire being feel like he was in freezing water. Wyatt’s teeth ground together painfully and he shut his eyes, avoiding looking at the eternally grinning demon inches from his face.   
The creature tilted its head in a very dog-like way, streaks and dapples of neon blues glowing slightly brighter on the liquid grey surface. Skin, could it be considered that? 

“ **We...are Splice... and we-”**

“HEY!” a sudden guttural shout sent a cold shock through both of them like an icy blade through their spine. 

“Heard a fight back here,” 

Wyatt turned his eyes to the entrance of the alleyway only to be quickly blinded. A flashlight turned onto him before he could scramble behind the dumpster, singing his eyes. Splice disintegrated like water back under Wyatt’s skin for a second, hiding. 

“ **More of them**...” it rumbled from within the echoing confines of his skull ” **we must devour them”**

“No! It’s just a cop!” Wyatt hissed, instinctively putting his hands above his head. 

**We will not surrender so easily, the creature snarled. Wyatt felt his heart rate quicken and muscles tense, ready to fight.**

“Oh shit...” the policeman spat, his wide eyes and beam of the flashlight catching the barely recognizable remains of the man pinned to the ground. It was hard to see in the darkness with the hazy beam of light in their face, but it was hard to miss the stiffening of the Police Officer and the trembling of his hand as it shot for his holster. 

“Keep your hands where I can see em! And don’t move a damn muscle!” His voice boomed deafeningly in the small space. Something metallic and dark in his hand pointed at Wyatt’s center mass.   
The host’s entire body seemed rigid as a board as if ready to launch at the cop any second, not on his own accord whatsoever. He fought with every ounce of strength to stay still.   
“We can’t kill everybody you see, ya insane tapeworm!” He hissed under his breath

**Who is this man if he isn’t here to kill us?**

“He’s a cop, they arrest bad guys and shit, and right now we look a lot like one of those bad guys.” He brought his gaze to meet the Officer’s, who was cautiously approaching, taser trained on them.

“We gotta get out of here,” he nervously muttered to the creature hiding under his skin. 

“Who the hell are you talking to?” The Cop shouted, uneasy. 

**What options would Wyatt agree to?**

“An option where nobody else dies right now...” he squeaked, hands shaking above his head with nerves as the officer’s footsteps advanced. 

“That’s enough!” Another shout. The officer was a few yards away. 

**Wyatt is so picky. But we will try. This body is new to us, no promises.**

“What-“ 

Everything seemed to slow down to an almost impossible degree, as if the frame rate of his own brain had shot through the roof. 

His brain was running in overdrive from his lingering panicked state, fight or flight activated as his amygdala took in every ounce of information it could gather, neurons going rapid fire in the moment as the Officer grew close. Time dilation and fear was a hell of a drug. 

The sensation of Splice’s surface changing under his flesh made him drop his hands to his core, wide eyes watching helplessly as the mass began to emerge and reach to cover his arms again.   
“What no wait!” 

“What the hell?! I said hands UP!” The police officer’s booming shout ricochet off the walls of the alley. A loud pop alerted them as the taser deployed, a supersonic crackling sound to his ears as the two prods landed in his flesh. 

And that was when all hell erupted. 

  
�

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and the support I’ve gotten here and on other platforms so far. I’m starting to get the hang of things I think and can’t wait to explore these characters more in the future. Eventually I’ll figure out how to add pictures and post the art I have of these boys.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been years since I’ve taken a crack at writing seriously, as I primarily do webcomics.   
> This is just for fun and something I’m very much learning from. I love exploring characters so I thought why not. I thank you for checking it out.


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